Erin Go Bragh
by SteneMichele
Summary: On the day that Alice returns to Forks, Rosalie and Emmett are working at a bar in Dublin. The day, you ask? What else? St. Patrick's Day! Written for quirkyalice's contest.


**A/N: This was written for ****xparawhorextwerdx**** and quirkyalice's St. Patrick's Day contest. I'm a sucker for St. Patrick's Day. Okay, so did anybody else notice that, roughly analyzing the dates and months of Twilight, Alice returns on St. Patrick's Day during New Moon? (I didn't actually have enough time on my hands to analyze the dates myself. It's called Google.) It is also the day that Bella is completely unconscious after James attacks her in Twilight. **_**Lucky**_**, eh?**

**This story takes place during the end of New Moon (before Volterra) and it involves Rosalie and Emmett. Basically, Emmett is a security guard and Rosalie is a bartender at a small pub in Dublin. No one really finds out what they were doing during Edward's South America self-exile phase and Bella's zombie phase, so I imagine that their last day in Ireland would go something like this. **

I had celebrated Ramadan in Mecca, and the Chinese New Year in Hong Kong. I had seen Independence Day in Washington D.C., and I had witnessed Chanukah in Israel. Yes, in my century on this planet, I had seen every country in the prime of their holidays, but nothing compared to St. Patrick's Day in Dublin. The tea lights were shining brightly down the narrow streets, and the entire population seemed to be wearing some shade of green. I could smell the corned beef and cabbage and, though it was human food, it smelled magnificent.

I had spent the past few months in a small pub called McKronan's. It was one of the more popular bars, and it had been the only one to offer both Emmett and I jobs. Of course, we did not _need _the jobs, but employment certainly was a priority for our human fascia.

"Guinness, m'lady?" an old man shouted into my ear, touching the small of my back. I grimaced but managed a small smile as I slid away from his touch.

"Erin go bragh!" I recited, for the 113th time that night, handing him his drink. It was part of the job description that I was to allow a quick peck on the cheek, so I stiffened as the man leaned in, leaning ever-so-slightly away from his wrinkled lips. What surprised me most, however, was the feeling of his mouth on my face. It was soft and familiar, and much more loving than any stranger's should be. I opened my eyes in relief and laughed.

"Emmett!" I giggled, wrapping my arms around my husband's neck. The old man had slinked off to the side of the room, disappointment evident on his ancient face. I closed my eyes as my husband kissed my cheek again.

"I thought you were stationed at the front entrance," I pointed out, jerking my head towards the pub owner, who was eyeing us warily. Emmett shrugged.

"If there's any trouble I'll be there before you can say **_Tabhair póg dom, táim Éireannach_**," Emmett reminded me. I giggled.

"_Kiss me, I'm Irish,_" I translated, leaning in as he obeyed my order. His kiss was deep and fervent, much more passionate than he would ever dream of under any other circumstance. That was the beauty of St. Patrick's Day; everybody was too inebriated to notice anybody else's drunken state. Not that Emmett and I were drunk, of course. If we had _wanted _to drink the revolting whiskey that had been shoved in our faces all night long, it would not have had any effect on our stone-cold bodies.

"Miss Rosalie," Daragh McKronan muttered reproachfully. "Mr. Cullen?" I pulled away from Emmett's hold at once, looking down at the chubby pub owner. It would actually be quite convenient if he fired the both of us; we were planning on spending the next month with the Denali coven in the states anyway.

But instead of firing us for excessive displays of affection, he had a message to deliver.

"A note from a...Jasper Hale?" he announced, furrowing his brow as he handed us a letter. A letter?

As soon as Daragh was out of earshot, I slid my thumb under the fold of the envelope and slid it open with such force that a human would have received a paper cut. _A paper cut. _That had been what had started this all. Edward had gone first, and naturally we had followed suit. Edward was so idiotic sometimes. Only someone as hormonal as _Edward Cullen _would flee the country and the foolish girl that he loved over _a paper cut. _

I flattened out the letter, narrowing my eyes at the calligraphy. It was uneven and haywire handwriting, as if Jasper had been writing on a solo-manned helicopter flight across the Alps.

"_Emmett and Rosalie, There is an emergency. Edward is in Volterra. Bella and Alice are following. Whatever you said, Rosalie, drove him to provoke the Volturi. I have never been more ashamed to be your twin, even if it is only due to our hair color_," I read the letter with a wavering voice, shoving the crinkled parchment into Emmett's outstretched hands.

"No," I hissed, grabbing a bar stool for support. The wooden seat turned into sawdust under my hand, but everybody was too intoxicated to notice. Emmett grimaced, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me against his chest.

"Bella's alive," he whispered consolingly into my ear. "It's okay. She's fine." I pushed myself away from him, shaking my head in fury.

"I don't give a damn about the girl!" I shrieked, attracting the stares of a couple of people within the close proximity. Emmett furrowed his brow, confused.

"Then why are you so upset?" he asked, wiping a stray golden lock away from my forehead. I shook my head like a dog freeing his ears of water.

"_Damn it_, Emmett," I sighed. "Did you read the letter? He's gone to _Italy. _He's provoking the Volturi!" To my complete bewilderment, Emmett grinned.

"I know!" he exclaimed, "And it's brilliant! He's been such a law-abider his whole life. It's about time he stirred things up a little. Wreaked a little havoc and all." I froze, closing my eyes.

"If by 'wreak havoc' you mean 'commit suicide', then _yes_, Emmett," I snapped. "If that's your idea of 'stirring things up'." Emmett grimaced, inhaling sharply.

"He wouldn't," he muttered shallowly. I scoffed.

"Believe me, Emmett," I retorted. "_He would. _Finish the letter." Emmett jumped, fumbling the letter before regaining his composure and reading aloud.

"_If Alice comes back in anything less than the perfect state that she left in, I will joyfully dismember you. Both of you need to contact Esme and Carlisle and go home immediately. You're no help in Ireland, but you are the reason that our brother is endangering his own life. If 'family' means anything to you, then you will both be in Forks, Washington within the hour. Cead mile failte. - Jasper Hale."_

"'Home'," I repeated, dumbstruck. We had never used that term before. We had never grown attached to one place in particular, but now we were referring to that small rainy suburb as 'home'. Ugh.

"We have to go," Emmett demanded, suddenly understanding the seriousness of the situation. I nodded, grabbing his hand as we flew out of the pub too fast for human eyes to follow.

"Emmett, call Alice and tell her- tell her that I apologize," I choked, taking off my emerald green heels; it was going to be a long run _home. _Emmett considered my words, taken aback by the apology.

"_Just do it," _I hissed, casting him a sinister glare. I blocked out his frenzied voice as he conversed with Alice, trying to straighten out my thoughts. For once, it was not Edward's insane conscience that had driven him to do this. _It was me. _And I would have to live with that. If the Volturi granted him his wish... then I would have to look into Esme's eyes for the rest of eternity and see the pain that I had caused. But it had all been a misunderstanding, after all. When Alice had said 'the funeral', what was I supposed to think?

"Rosalie!" Emmett whispered, bringing me out of my reverie. I met his eyes, desperate to prove to him that I was sorry. For everything.

"A year ago he attacked her, Em," I murmured, closing my eyes.

"What?" Emmett persisted tentatively, afraid that I had lost my sanity. I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration.

"A year ago today Edward saved her from James," I elaborated, shaking my head to try to rid it of the memory. "We have to go."

The trip home was dark and silent. Emmett and I ran side by side faster than I had ever run before. They say that St. Patrick's Day is a day of luck. Maybe that's just for the Irish. Maybe that's just for the humans. Maybe that's just for anybody but me.


End file.
